


Touch Me Gently

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Genderfluid Character, Hand & Finger Kink, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Aziraphale had started manicuring his nails.





	Touch Me Gently

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this on that one post holoxam made on tumblr about Crowley getting flustered about Aziraphale licking cream cake off his fingers after the birthday party.
> 
> Oh! also on the three distinct people who messaged me in the same day last week to talk about Aziraphale's hands, including meredithsocks who explicitly said they headcanoned that Aziraphale does his nails because he's noticed that Crowley looks at his hands all the time. I've been thinking about this on and off ever since! When will I know peace!!!

Aziraphale had started manicuring his nails.

It struck Crowley as probably an inappropriate thing to comment on, and so he didn’t, but it was rapidly becoming a source of distraction during their little meetings, their lunches, walks around the city, long evenings drinking together. Aziraphale, for all his fussing, was not particularly fastidious about his person, and it seemed so incongruous for him to suddenly start displaying the beginnings of vanity over his hands.

Except for the fact that it made complete sense. Aziraphale had beautiful hands. Soft, like everything else about the angel, but in a way that belied the strength underneath. Nearly six thousand years and Crowley had seen firsthand just how strong the angel was too many times to ever truly be fooled by his rumpled bookseller’s appearance. He’d always thought Aziraphale seemed to like the impression he presented to the world, though, of casual disinterest and harried benevolence. The nails didn’t make sense with that image, and Crowley couldn’t think of any plausible reason he’d suddenly taken up shaping and painting them every week.

Sometimes they were a dark and unobtrusive red, almost a brown, but usually they were simply glossy and his hands well looked after, the callouses smoothed away. Crowley honestly found this last a bit of a shame. He couldn’t have articulated why, but the reason was that he felt, on some level, that Aziraphale ought to bear some sign of having lived in his hands if he was going to bear it anywhere.  

And the additional attention Crowley was now paying to Aziraphale’s hands was starting to do funny things to him. He’d never noticed, for example, how expressively Aziraphale waved his hands through the air trying to make a point when he was drunk. Or how his fingers flexed on the clean white of the tablecloth when Crowley made a particularly rude comment. Or even the way he flicked little bits of bread out over the water for the ducks. All of it was suddenly strangely fascinating.

It wasn’t until they were luxuriating over a lengthy evening of wine and dessert, and Aziraphale stuck a finger in his mouth after stealing a particularly large bit of shaved chocolate off the top of Crowley’s tiramisu, that something snapped into place. Crowley watched Aziraphale’s lips close around the morsel of chocolate and felt what seemed to be all the blood in his body rush in a distinct downward direction. Neither angels nor demons have any physical sex, by default, but demons manifest such characteristics significantly easier, and the sight of Aziraphale’s mouth doing _that_ sent a streak of heat to his core so quickly he let out a whimper.

Aziraphale looked up, and Crowley was extremely glad he was wearing sunglasses, because he was sure the angel would have been able to read what was in his head if he’d looked into his eyes in that moment. As it was, he wiped his hands on a napkin and raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright, my dear?” He asked, apparently, mercifully, completely oblivious to the revelation Crowley had just had.

“Yes.” Crowley choked out, his voice hoarse. He took a quick drink of water and tried not to panic at the small smile that was forming on Aziraphale’s face. “Yes, I’m fine. I just… I ah, I bit my tongue.”

Aziraphale looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Crowley closed his eyes behind his glasses momentarily, wanting to kick himself. _Very smooth,_ he thought. _Very demonic._

When he opened his eyes again Aziraphale had stopped looking at him and was finishing off his glass of wine. “You _are_ going to eat that, yes?” he asked, pointing at Crowley’s dessert. Crowley shook his head and passed the small dish across the table.

“Help yourself.” Crowley said, putting all his attention into remaining still when the tips of Aziraphale’s fingers brushed his hand as he took the tiramisu. Part of him registered dimly that he’d manifested a vagina and labia rather than cock and balls, and he was briefly grateful for the lesser hassle until he imagined Aziraphale’s fingers curling inside him, and then it wasn’t a lesser hassle at all.

Crowley let out a quiet breath, not looking at anything in particular as he tried to get himself under control. Aziraphale appeared unaware of his suffering, contentedly eating Crowley’s dessert, and Crowley closed his eyes again as he breathed in and out, trying to focus on something else. Aziraphale’s fingers running through the slick between his legs, rubbing over his clit and _somebody_ , this was not helping.

Crowley stood up, meaning to head for the restroom, but Aziraphale joined him, smiling. “My place or yours for drinks, do you think?” He asked, and Crowley’s head jerked to look at him. Aziraphale’s expression slid from cheerful to concerned, taking a brief detour at confused as he stepped around the table towards Crowley. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look a bit… flushed.”

“Yours.” Crowley said in a rush, backing away from Aziraphale’s attempts to touch him. “Your place. Let’s go to your place. You’ve still got that 1782, I think.”

“I believe I do, yes.” Aziraphale looked a little taken aback. “Very well, let’s go.” and he gestured for Crowley to lead the way out of the restaurant.

By some minor miracle they made it back to the bookshop. Crowley spent the whole trip giving his insides a strict talking to, and by the time they were stepping into the building he’d almost managed to will himself back to a state of sexlessness.

But it was all for naught. When they’d sat down in the back room and Crowley had pulled out glasses from the cupboards over the sink, Aziraphale reached out a hand and covered Crowley’s with his own to pour him a drink. Crowley dropped the glass and it shattered on the surface of the table.

“Really.” Aziraphale said with a sniff, glaring it back together and vanishing the mess of red wine spilling to the floor and creeping across the worn linoleum. “Crowley, dear, what is the matter with you this evening?”

“I don’t know, okay?” He snapped. “I just… I need you to stop for a moment.”

Aziraphale looked momentarily hurt. “Why?”

“You’re…” Crowley flapped his hand in the air, a vague gesture that encompassed all of Aziraphale. “At the restaurant, when you…” He let out a frustrated huff, and Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, resting his hands on the table, drumming his fingers. Crowley noticed a bit of the polish was flaking off the thumb on his left hand. “ _Fuck_.” He put his head in his hands.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, “tell me what’s going on.”

“I want you to touch me.” Crowley said in a rush, before he lost his nerve. “I’ve been looking at your hands for days, wondering why you’ve started doing your nails, and… _fuck_ , Aziraphale. I want you to touch me.”

Aziraphale was silent for a long, long moment, and Crowley had just about decided he should open his mouth and take it back, when Aziraphale said, “oh, my dear,” with such a tenderness that Crowley looked up again.

Aziraphale stood up from the table and went to stand beside Crowley, who turned to follow his movements. He took off Crowley’s sunglasses and peered into his eyes, Crowley’s face cupped in both his hands. When he ran the pad of his thumb over Crowley’s lips the demon gasped, and that parting was all the invitation Aziraphale needed to nudge his thumb into Crowley’s mouth.

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said again, a breathless thing this time, and Crowley shivered. His snakelike tongue caressed Aziraphale’s thumb where it was resting on his teeth, and Aziraphale let out a little cry at the contact.

And then he was removing his hands and pulling Crowley up by his lapels, his arms wrapping around him and his mouth going hungrily to Crowley’s, and Crowley hissed at the glorious distraction of Aziraphale’s hands pushing his jacket down off his shoulders, and flying to work on the buttons of his shirt, and it was all Crowley could do to hold on and keep kissing him as they stumbled, half-drunk on each other, to the couch.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley gasped as he collapsed against the cushions, pulling the angel’s hips down on top of him. “I want—”

“I know, dear, I want you too.” Aziraphale said, his voice low in his throat. “Will you let me—” his hands fluttered by Crowley’s waist, and Crowley nodded.

“Yes, angel, please.” Crowley urged him forward, working on Aziraphale’s tie and buttons even as he pulled Crowley’s trousers and pants down over his narrow hips. The angel slid two fingers between his legs and withdrew them again, and Crowley moaned.

“You’re wet.” Aziraphale said, almost wonderingly.

“Been thinking about you doing that for the last half an hour.” Crowley said feverishly. “Since you licked—”

Crowley didn’t finish his sentence, because Aziraphale had lifted the fingers he’d just run along Crowley’s labia to his mouth and began to suck, and Crowley’s head fell backwards against the arm of the couch with an uncomfortable thwack at the sight. He wondered vaguely if he could come just from looking at Aziraphale, perfect Aziraphale, leaning over him like that and tasting him on his fingertips.

Aziraphale withdrew his hand and leaned down, kissing him again, and Crowley didn’t think he could get any more turned on, but he could _taste himself_ in Aziraphale’s mouth, mixed with the lingering flavors of chocolate, coffee, and wine. He arched his hips, desperately grinding against Aziraphale, still clothed but very obviously making the effort.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley smirked. “Somehow I wouldn’t have guessed you’d want to fuck me.”

“It ah!—” Aziraphale’s words were cut off as Crowley kissed his jawline and he shivered atop him, “it seemed appropriate, given what you’re working with at the moment.”

Crowley let out a little laugh against Aziraphale’s skin. “I didn’t have much say in the matter. Watching you stick those pretty fingers in your mouth earlier made me think of where else I’d like them.” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley nipped at the space behind his ear.

“You think my hands are pretty?” Aziraphale sounded both gratified and hopelessly aroused, and Crowley slipped his own hand into Aziraphale’s pants to squeeze the heavy hardness there, eliciting a choked sound and a thrust down into Crowley’s grip.

“Gorgeousssssssss.” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale stifled a cry, biting his lip.

“I’ve been doing my nails for you.” He confessed in a slightly shaky voice. His face was pressed into Crowley’s shoulder, but Crowley blinked and turned to look at him nonetheless. “You’ve been looking at my hands for centuries, dear, and I thought—”

“Assssiraphale.” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale looked up, insecurity writ across his face for the first time since this experience had begun. “Yes?”

“ _Please_ fuck me.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s expression cleared. A moment later Crowley’s eyes were screwed shut as Aziraphale’s hand travelled down to stroke him open, fingers scissoring in him and thumb brushing softly over his clit. Every couple of strokes his fingers would rub up against something, and Crowley’s vision would waver with pleasure.

“How is that?” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley let out a high-pitched sigh.

“Perfect, angel, don’t stop.”

Crowley was so wet he could feel it soaking into the cushions below him, and he briefly considered the fact that this couch was old enough that if it hadn’t been in Aziraphale’s back room all its life at least four generations of people could have done this activity here before him, and then Aziraphale was sliding his cock into him and he wasn’t considering anything at all apart from how _good_ he felt.

“Angel,” Crowley gasped, opening his eyes again to see Aziraphale looking down at him with attentive concern, his curls beginning to stick to his forehead and his cheeks flushed.

“Crowley?”

Crowley had no idea what he’d wanted to say, because the sight of Aziraphale, focused so completely on him, swept out everything else. Instead he pulled Aziraphale down, kissing him and angling his hips until the angel’s cock was buried in him just so, and then letting out a cry as Aziraphale started to move.

It was bliss, pure and simple, Aziraphale’s ragged breaths against his ear as he fucked him, and Crowley’s legs coming to rest around his hips, holding him in place, urging him deeper, and the angel hadn’t taken his hand off the place where their bodies met. He was rubbing Crowley’s clit in time with his thrusts, and oh, Crowley wasn’t going to last very long, but it didn’t matter with this particular configuration, did it? Crowley came with a low moan, and Aziraphale kissed him, so softly, in complete contrast to the way he was beginning to fuck him more roughly, his cock still dragging over that spot that sent little jolts through Crowley’s spine.

And then Aziraphale was coming, crying out Crowley’s name as he did so, and Crowley throbbed around him a second time as Aziraphale collapsed on his chest. He slid out of Crowley and vanished the mess with a thought before getting comfortable laying atop him. It was a good job he was such a pleasantly malleable weight, Crowley thought idly, shifting to press a kiss to the angel’s temple. They lay like that for several moments, both catching their breath, sweaty and sated. Aziraphale pulled his hand free from between them and examined his nails.

“Probably ruined.” Crowley murmured.

“They don’t seem to be.” Aziraphale shifted on top of Crowley so he could lay his head more easily on his shoulder. “But even if they are it’s alright, I can redo them.”

“You’ve really been doing your nails because I look at your hands?” Crowley questioned, his voice very quiet. Aziraphale nodded minutely.

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” Crowley shrugged, then apologized when he realized the movement had dislodged Aziraphale. “I never noticed I did, until recently.”

Aziraphale smirked and kissed Crowley again. “Maybe that was my intention, dear.”   


End file.
